TRADITIONS OF IBIZA:  
THE IBICENCO RURAL DWELLING: PART II
IN COLLABORATION WITH VICENT PALERMET

Having discussed in our previous section the overall functioning of the household, and traversed the ‘finca’ room by room to acquaint ourselves with the peculiarities of each, we will now turn our attention to the actual building of the house. Starting with the ‘casa de jeure’ – that first stark room in which newlyweds embarked on conjugal life –, we will trace out the gradual unfolding of the dwelling as a whole. Ibicenco tradition envisioned a long-term plan in which the ‘casa de jeure’ would expand over the decades, slowly evolving from a square box perched in a field to a complex farmstead gracefully embracing the lay of the land. Despite the lack of blueprints, adherence to local custom ensured that each new appendage would conform neatly to the pre-existing structure in order to fulfil its intended purpose on the farm. 

The Great Shift

The ‘organically-growing’ farmhouse was generally raised by the sweat and toil of those who inhabited it – which hardly comes as a surprise. Our next revelation, however, will most certainly puzzle readers. Ethnologist Vicent Palermet affirms that the do-it-yourself custom did not become widespread in Ibiza until the mid-19th century. Prior to this time, he maintains, houses were raised by specialized builders whose established function within the society was that of masonry construction. Such a reversal in the train of progress strikes one as unusual. How could it be that before the 19th century house-building was consigned to salaried or barter-remunerated workers, while after that period the same task was undertaken by the householder himself? The dilemma is even odder when we consider that earlier houses were extremely basic, whereas later constructions gained in complexity and sophistication. 

The answer to our query lies in the rapid increase in the Pityusan population over the course of the 19th century. In 1800, Ibiza and Formentera had a combined population of just over 15,000 inhabitants, a figure which by the end of the century had risen to just over 25,000, a virtual boom by the standards of the day. In order to keep pace with the burgeoning populace, potentially arable lands were cleared nearer to the coast and new agricultural tools and methods were introduced. It would appear that the commensurate demand for houses on these newly established holdings began to outstrip the capacity of the island’s pool of builders to produce them. Undaunted, enterprising farmers simply did the job themselves. While a number of factors, often contradictory, enter into this difficult debate, for our purposes, let us simply conclude that self-building in Ibiza became standard procedure out of necessity. 

Step One: Choosing a Spot

When a young couple was ready to set up their independent household, their first task was to choose a propitious spot. Access to land, incidentally, could come either through family ownership or tenancy, as was the case with sharecroppers. Whichever way, it was country wisdom that guided the young homemakers in finding the most favourable plot. Certain geographical conditions had to be met. Firstly, the terrain should be rocky and somewhat inclined: flat tracts of fertile soil were too valuable as tillage to be used as human habitats. Secondly, the spot had to be situated on higher ground so as to command a good view of the surrounding farmland and pastures. Naturally, the site had to be sunny and dry so that the insidious damp of winter did not moulder the house away. And, it goes without saying that the place should be far removed from any watercourse in order to avoid flooding when the rains came. 

Yet, even when all of these prerequisites had been taken into account, Ibicencos realized that human knowing can only go so far and left the final decision to the sagacity of Mother Nature in the following way. Over a period of several weeks, either the swain or his damsel would accompany the grazing flocks out to pasture. On inclement days, they would not take the animals back home, but rather observe where the sheep sought shelter from the wind and cold. It was here that they would build their house.

Step Two: Clearing the Land

The next task was to clear the area of topsoil and stones so that the house could be constructed off a foundation of solid rock. There were no basements in the Ibicenco ‘finca’. The only excavating ever done was for the purpose of digging wells and cisterns, a laborious endeavour which was shared by all of the families who would subsequently have access to the new water source.

All of the loose soil was progressively mounded onto a spoil heap in front of the projected house. This good earth would become what was known as ‘es tancó’, a cross between a kitchen garden and an orchard, where dry-growing vegetables such as garlic, cabbage, chard and potatoes were planted. Aromatic herbs such as camomile, marjoram, spearmint, etc. provided infusions and culinary enhancement, while a few fruit trees stood at the back wall, a necessary barrier against the intrusion of farm animals. Lemons and oranges were the most common winter staples, although other seasonal fruits such as apples, apricots, medlars, plums and tiny pears were also popular. In summer, the seeding rows nearest the house were set aside for wet-growing vegetables such as tomatoes, peppers and lettuce. If a farm’s water source was scare, the household simply did without these delicacies, inasmuch as the demands of cooking, washing and drinking water for livestock took precedence over salad. 

Step Three: Prickly Pears and the Bare Necessities

During the clearing process mentioned earlier, the good earth was separated from the bad. Low-quality soil and bits of broken stone ended up on a second spoil heap located either to the west or north of the building site. This second mound was destined to become the prickly pear patch – in other words, the toilet. It was known euphemistically in Ibicenco parlance as ‘la esplanada’, and, like ‘es tancó’ was also enclosed by a dry-stone wall or perhaps some cane fencing. This amenity was not only for the sake of privacy, but also to prevent unauthorized munching by the farm’s livestock. The pigs loved the bristly fruit and spiky young leaves of the ‘chumberas’ while the sheep and goats ate the tough older leaves. As the purveyor of cost-free animal fodder and the depurator of human waste, the “esplanade” was indeed one of the most ergonomic departments on any farm. Well aware of its value, the ever-practical peasants carefully pruned these giant cacti to further maximize their yield.